Dreamer
by smelltheroses192
Summary: A series (I hope) about a girl who dreams about going on adventures with the Doctor. But maybe she is not really dreaming at all. And will she be able to accept the truth? Rated T just in case.
1. Chapter 1

I think I am completely mad to post this rubbish. But I swear its a compulsion, I wouldn't if I had a choice. Oh. I really do dream like this.

Please read at least until the end of chapter 3 before writing me off. I'm still getting my sea legs here. Also comment :) How am I supposed to know how to get better if you don't?

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Dreamer

Episode 1

I've always had very vivid dreams. For as long as I can remember I've had some measure of control and logical thought in my dreams. As a result dreaming has always been an adventure for me and I have experienced many amazing things in this way. But in my twenty-one years of life I have never had a dream so marvelous as the dream I had the night I met the Doctor.

I don't recall what led up to the point in which I became lucid. I was dreaming and then things began to fade into view. First I saw the weathered brick of the inner city row houses lining both sides of the street where I was standing. Then I became aware of the solid pavement beneath my glossy black flat soled shoes. Then there came a gentle breeze pulling against the knee-length skirt of my filmy sun dress and whispering against the skin of my bare arms and legs. Still it was all very vague and typically dreamlike until all at once everything came sharply into focus as my eyes fell on the tall, deep blue box standing just a few long strides distant from me near the wall of one of the buildings.

Everything else ceased to exist as far as I was concerned and I fairly flew across the ground to close the gap between me and this beautiful object. I had come to know and love this box through the television show and the fan fiction and the immense amount of hours spent ransacking the internet for every bit of information about the wonderful and fantastical Doctor Who. Part of me is acutely aware that I am dreaming, but at the moment all logic and lucidity is forgotten as the Tardis seized every bit of my attention.

I am drawn irresistibly and I let my fingers brush the rough, ancient surface. Then I spread my fingers, pressing my palm to the wood and close my eyes.

It felt safe. All the feelings of joy and relief, like those that come when in the heat of danger the cloister bell rings out all harsh and beautiful as it announces the arrival of salvation itself, rushes through me at the contact. It feels so inexpressibly right.

I feel as though I have found something utterly precious that until this moment I had not consciously known I had lost. But my heart had known and I stood immobilized between wanting to leap and scream or sob. My fingers are moving again, wandering over the sturdy structure until they find the door. They seem to be moving of their own volition as I traced the keyhole with my finger, before touching the delicate metal handle.

"It's locked and you don't have a key," whispers logic brain. But I am way beyond being touched by logic at this point. I was moving absently, my body just doing its own thing while my mind struggled to cope with all the varying emotions flooding it.

I gave the door a gentle push and a quiet click resounds as the door swings inward with a familiar squeak. I suppose I should have been surprised, but this is a dream right? Sometimes illogical and wonderful things just happen in dreams. Stepping into the interior, the control room of the Tardis itself, a wash of new emotions streamed through me. I had come home after a long, weary journey or so my feelings seemed to think. And I was welcomed if not with a physical hug then in a rush of feeling that seemed to come from an external source. From the Tardis? But that is not possible is it?

Can things be crystal clear and hopelessly muddled at once?

Now I am just standing here. A part of me hears the door click shut behind me and feels the constant quiet thrum from the machinery surrounding the heart that is the Tardis. But I can do little more than look and not even truly see for all is emotion. Unspeakable, indescribable emotions of joy so sharp it is almost sorrow, of knowing it is a dream and yet nothing ever seemed so real and right.

"I should be doing something. Questioning," I think. But I've had vivid dreams before. The same in vividness though hardly in intensity and I have learned to just go with the flow and right now I am just feeling all the assault of feeling with very little conscious thought.

And then, as if the universe is conspiring to turn me into a blubbering lunatic from sheer joy, the Doctor himself comes up from the mysterious inner rooms and stops in front of me with such a look of shock that, had I any semblance of mind left to think, I would have laughed.

I think that anyone who has watched the show would have known him because I did. In retrospect I don't know how because he was none of the reincarnations that I remember from the show. But as I stood there I knew him with never any question, because I could see them all at once though the three most recent were the most prominent. He was all of them and none of them in such a bewildering kaleidoscope of images that if my logical brain had been working I think it would have been obliterated by the impossible truth of it.

I saw in him madness, and brilliance, laughter and intensity, love and the oncoming storm. I saw David Tennant one moment, Christopher Eccleston, Matt Smith and others and yet his face remained the same. Am I making any sense at all? I suppose not. But it is like when you are watching the show and it's the most recent doctor but all of a sudden you can sense a previous doctor through something that is said or done or felt. I wonder if anyone besides myself will ever understand this utter madness.

"What?!" He exclaims, and it was David Tennant. "How did you get in here?"

I opened my mouth, but nothing was coming out.

He raised his sonic screwdriver and proceeded to scan me up and down and my mind seized upon the whirring. It was so familiar and wonderful and that safe feeling possessed me. My eyes were following him as he circled me, his movements scattered and full of frantic purpose as he took in me and the readings of his sonic and all the world at once and he was Matt Smith.

"Well you're human at any rate," he continued, coming to a pause in front of me, towering head and shoulders over me with all his gangly beauty as he peered into my eyes as if to find the answers carved there. "But how did you get in?"

"The door just opened." O look, my voice is working!

"But it was locked!" he exclaimed, and he was off again sonicing the door, dancing to the console fiddling with something. And then he was back, those impossibly intense eyes boring into mine and I glimpsed the storm in his soul.

I suppose he was trying to intimidate me into confessing to whatever I had done, but instead I began to smile with utter abandon.

"This is a lovely dream! I can hardly believe how real it seems!" its logic brain again, but I'm still far too enamored with what is going on to pay much attention.

He looks confused, the storm winks out and he looks a little lost.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" he demands, but his tone is more curious than angry now.

"You're the Doctor," I state matter-of-factly. As if my brain were not on the brink of exploding everywhere.

He holds himself a little straighter with that self-assured look that we all know is not really egotistical because he truly is all that and some. "Yes I am," he says cautiously.

"Hi, I'm Lillian," I say, holding out my hand.

He takes it though I'm not sure if he knows why. And I'm not sure how or why I'm not exploding or, more importantly, why I know that I'm supposed to be here and that he will accept it.

"Hold on," he interrupts the moment as he remembers that I had just walked into the impenetrable Tardis.

I break away. There goes my body doing its own thing again.

"I don't know how it opened it just did," I said. My tone said it should be obvious to him that I belonged here. But I don't even know why it should be obvious, all I know is that it is wonderful.

"But if you didn't break in, which is nearly impossible by the way, and you don't have a key…" he processed. And because he is a wise old Time Lord, he concludes that such an obvious lie must be the truth. "Then…" and he is looking at the console or, more specifically, at the Tardis. "Do we trust her?"

He is not talking to me.

And then "Why do we trust her?" He doesn't get a complete answer I assume, because although he no longer exudes danger in that oncoming storm way, he still looks terribly confused and I imagine that there is a fierce struggle in him because it is not often that he does not know something.

He is looking at me and though I don't know how, I sense his feelings and thoughts. He sees me as a mystery, that much is clear, one of those things that the Doctor will get to the bottom of eventually though for now he will seem to accept it. But there is something more and for an instant I see me through his eyes, as if for a moment I've switched to his head instead of mine.

Confusing isn't it?

"Who is this human child who has stolen into my Tardis like a ghost?" He takes me in with those impossible eyes. He takes in my petite frame, my golden hair and my dancing blue eyes. My entire body seems to gush joy and child like wonder. "Though not a child," his thoughts murmur. "Who is she really?" There is a stirring in his heart, a whisper of something forgotten.

I am myself again. Is that how he really sees me? I was beautiful, almost fairy like through his eyes. My thoughts are still. I am fully lucid for the first time since touching the Tardis. I am looking up at him, my breath coming slow and heavy, keeping time with his as he stares into my eyes. I return his gaze with my own smiling but intense look.

"Why do I trust you?" he whispers, but he doesn't seem to really need an answer.

I feel as if his eyes are devouring me even as my own try to absorb him with their own heat. His breath is hot on my face and my heart leaps around making it very difficult to breath.

There is a loud noise and I jerk into wakefulness, my hand slapping for the alarm on my bedside table. As I flop back on the pillows with I sigh I think.

"What a wonderful dream."


	2. Chapter 2

Here I go. This one is worse then the last one. Unfortunately I'm already into writing the next episode. Why won't it stop!

Anyway thanks to everyone who has taken the trouble to read and/or follow, favorite, or reply.

Don't give up on me with this chapter - this is not my best work.

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Episode 2

I've been on a high all day. I can't stop thinking about my amazing dream. It's all very distracting. I don't know how I accomplished anything today. Muscle memory I think because my mind hasn't been in it.

After the daily humdrum of personal hygiene, nutrition, and work I am finally free to give way to my thoughts. I am at my computer watching all of my favorite Doctor Who episodes, poring of fan fiction, and digging through my brain for every scrap of detail from the night before. I know why I am so frantically filling my head with Doctor Who. I am hoping that I can trick my brain into letting me dream again tonight in kind.

"But that is not how it works," says logic.

I try to push the thought to the back of my brain, but it persists cold and harsh in the midst of all my fiery emotions. I know it's true. I've had countless vivid and lucid dreams and if there is one thing I do know about them, at least for me, it is that I can never get back to a particular dream. Believe me I've tried in the past.

But, that doesn't stop me and I know I'm just heading for an emotional crash. Why does it seem so important?

I take several calming breaths as I prepare for bed.

"Tonight I will have a lucid dream." I whisper the mantra over and over. I refuse to admit to myself just how badly I want that to be true. I pull the covers snugly around me and try to still my breathing and calm my thoughts.

But I am thinking of last night's dream and imagining what could happen if I dreamed again tonight and my heart rate increases. My thoughts fly from one scenario to another and I lay wrestling with them. Part of me is still enjoying the still vivid recall of the emotions I had experienced and part of me is yelling at myself that I would never get to sleep at this rate.

And so I toss and turn in that place between sleep and wakefulness my thoughts are on the Doctor, but I am not dreaming. I'm not even truly resting and the harder I try to stop myself from thinking the worse it gets and I realize with a pang that I will not dream tonight.

I must have fallen into fitful sleep sometime in the wee hours of the morning because the next thing I knew my alarm was forcing me awake. I lay there, a strange weight of disappointment making it difficult to face the thought. I did not dream.

Part of me, the logical sane part I think, accepts this as just another come down after a dream. I've experienced it before, that feeling when you come to the end of a wonderful book or movie that has transported you and now you must return to face the drabness of reality once more. I have to realize that all good things must come to an end.

So I go back to the daily grind. Tired on top of my disappointment. Marvelous.

It's been over a week now. The fervor to reclaim the dream has faded, but oddly enough the desire is still very strong. I've had to ignore it so that I can sleep and so I don't drive myself insane.

I've decided to write out my dream, for my own enjoyment because I don't intend that anyone else shall ever see it. So I sit out on my porch in the nice spring weather and I write and write. I stop several times wondering why I'm taking the trouble. It was just a dream like all the other dreams, but why am I compelled to write this down?

So I've finished it. Nearly seven pages in my chicken scratch handwriting.

I feel a sense of closure. It is as if I can finally let go of this dream that has become my obsession.

I closed my notebook and climbed into bed. Content I slowly drift off to sleep.


	3. Chapter 3 part 1

Ugh. Well here it is. Or at least the first part of it.

Don't stone me.

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Episode 3

Part 1

I woke up groggily. It's still dark. It is not time to get up yet so I snuggled deeper into my bedcovers. My bed has never felt so comfortable. I feel as though I were wrapped in silks and satins as I closed my eyes sighing contentedly into my pillow.

But there is something I'm missing. Something obvious.

I opened my eyes again reluctantly, trying to decide what was out of place. The faintest of vibrations is coming up through my bed. It is not unpleasant; in fact it is strangely relaxing. My brain is still hazy with sleep as I conclude that someone must have their car running just outside on the road. That is what it feels like.

But it is so dark. Usually even with the curtains drawn at the darkest time of night light from the street lamp outside would lend plenty of light to see the outlines of my bedroom's furnishings, but it is black as pitch.

I lay still. I listen, feeling the quiet thrum. I am alert, my thoughts very logical and clear.

I sat up in bed. Maybe the street lamp is broken. I ran my hands over my bedcovers. They feel strange. It is not my fleece throw blanket. It is a thick bed spread that feels expensive though I cannot see it.

I am not alarmed because I am beginning to realize what is happening. I am still dreaming.

I pushed the covers back slowly, acutely aware of their foreign feel. Every sensation is sharp and clear.

"It's so realistic," I think relishing the crisp cool touch of the sheets as they slide from my skin.

I moved my hands over my person. My fingers meet a thin material like polyester. The garment is short enough to be a nightie but it doesn't feel like pjs.

"At least I'm wearing something," I conclude wryly, though it occurs to me vaguely that I could change what I'm wearing in a dream.

But there is no time for that. I want to learn more about my surroundings which is nearly impossible in the darkness. I dangle my legs over the side of the bed and my toes meet rich carpet. The thrumming is more powerful as if the floor is closer to its source.

Why is this vibration so familiar?

As soon as I am out of the bed, a dim glow illuminates the room. Not bright enough to be painful to my adjusting eyes, but bright enough for me to finally see everything easily.

The room is decorated strangely. Exotically I suppose. The walls are a deep velvet color and the ceiling is black with shimmering little lights lending to the luminescence of the room. It was designed to look like the night sky looking down on the occupant in all of its splendor.

The bed I had arrived in was large and as luxurious in appearance as it had felt. The bedclothes were all dark with silver sheets, in keeping with the theme of the room. I would not have thought so many dark colors could be appealing but it was very tasteful. I felt as though I was floating in space.

My toes touched something lying on the carpet by the bedside. I look down. Glossy black flats sat as if thoughtfully placed for my convenience. I catch my breath as my hands stray to the light fabric of my dress. This is familiar. I slip my feet into the shoes trying to stay calm.

It wouldn't do to wake myself with the excitement of the realization breaking upon me like a wave.

Do you know that feeling – like part of you is about to burst with emotion, but somehow externally you are very calm and clear though you don't know how you could possibly have clear thoughts at such a time as this? Well that is how I feel right now as I step slowly around the room towards the double doors leading out of my room.

My room? Another one of those things I just know. I will have to give some serious thought to this later.

I move deliberately. Each motion controlled as I drink in each color, sensation, and emotion. I know what that vibration is. I am in a room in the Tardis. My own room. How or why are questions that my logical mind is wrestling with but, as before I am just going with the moment. If I really stopped to contemplate I think I would explode. No seriously.

Oh goodness. I think I'm fan-girling.

I am watching myself pull open the doors. I am both very aware of my physical body and watching from an external viewpoint at once which I think should be confusing, but it is that dream thing where you just accept and move along.

And so I am moving. The corridor is thrumming more than my bedroom had been. It has that strange glow typical of the Tardis interior. The thick carpet comes to an end and there is the cold metal flooring and the strange, bulbous lights lining the hallway. There are other doors but I ignore them. I know where I am going.

I come to an entryway with a ramp leading up. I know where I am though I cannot see the familiar console from where I'm standing just inside the bowels of the marvelous ship. Although a part of me is wondrously detached, keeping me calm, I am finding it very difficult to breathe again.

Soft metallic sounds reach me sporadically and an occasional whirring and I know that he is there just above. He is tinkering as ever with his Tardis.

With a calming breath I step through the doorway and climb the ramp. He is standing over the console engrossed in whatever changes he is trying but likely failing to make. I purposely scuff my toe on the metal grating to let him know I am here and his head jerks up.

"You're awake," he observes, coming over to me. There is graveness about him and I see David Tennant. He is looking down at me and I feel small beneath his gaze.

"What happened?" I ask.

"You don't remember?" he raises an eyebrow as he studies me.

I remain silent and he explains.

"You just fell asleep. Keeled right over," his eyes are searching. Concerned.

He was worried for me.

"Well, I'm all right now," I soothed.

"Quite right," he says, but he doesn't stop looking.

I am still a mystery. I think about telling him that this is a dream, that he is a figment of my imagination but I cannot bring myself to. Would it spoil it? Well whether it would or not it felt so real and that is what matters right? I have determined to enjoy every aspect of this dream unspoiled by thoughts of what is and is not true.

I spin away from his searching eyes allowing some of my emotion to seep through my shell of control. I am smiling and exuberant again and I can feel he is drawn to my wonder. He is the Doctor. Wonder and new things are what keep his long life bearable in spite of the terrible things he has experienced.

"What are you doing to the Tardis?" I ask. I am at the console looking at all the gizmos and gears.

He proceeded to spout a string of techno babble and I laughed at him. He paused with a bewildered look on his handsome face.

"Well you asked," he said in a slightly offended tone.

"You're right I did," I conceded apologetically.

His eyebrow rises and he strides across the distance between us, joining me at the console.

"Who are you, Lillian?" he demands quietly.

I don't know what to say but luckily I am saved as suddenly there is a violent jolt throwing us both bouncing off the console and onto the floor. The Doctor is up almost instantly running around the console eyeing readouts on the screen and flipping switches.

I amuse myself with watching his antics, content to remain on the cold floor of the bucking Tardis as something began to pull it from the time vortex where we had been drifting. I link my arm around one of the metal banisters to keep myself as stable as possible, but I regret it as a particularly violent jerk nearly pulls my shoulder out of socket.

It's strange that my body is registering pain so clearly, considering I'm dreaming.

With an anti-climatic shudder the movement stops, leaving me feeling as though something was missing.

"What happened?" I questioned, still on the floor.

"I think the Tardis was bored," he replies though he doesn't sound a hundred percent certain. "Care to see where we've ended up?"

He is offering his hand to me and I think my heart has gotten stuck in my throat.

I take it. His hand is cool to the touch though not unpleasantly so. I've always wondered what it would be like to touch him considering his natural body temperature is lower that a humans. Now I know.

He helps me to my feet, practically lifting me and I am struck by the realization of his strength. He is leading me towards the door, the mystery of me temporarily forgotten in the wonder of new horizons.

He pauses at the door and turns to me. Shyly?

"Would you like to do the honors?"

I'm positively beaming, I can't help myself. "Yes, please."

I released his hand and pushed both doors wide open.

We're in a field. Its vast expanse of long grasses extend as far as I can see from where I stand just inside the Tardis. The grass is shimmering with an internal brilliance so that it looks like deep emerald glinting in the daylight. There is a sound like a quiet ocean as the grass undulates in a stiff warm breeze.

He is holding my hand again and leading me out into the grass with the Tardis' doors swinging shut behind us. It is hard to describe the planet spread out before me. It is beautiful but the words sound strange when I try to describe it.

The grass is shimmering and as I spin I see a distant collection of natural stone archways and pinnacles of deep red stone. I suppose they could be comparable to the rock formations in Utah and Montana if you've ever seen them.

There are two suns here. One is large and white the other smaller and red and it is setting.

It's frustrating because I feel as though I am butchering the description but perhaps you can sense it?

I closed my eyes and breathed deeply. The air smelled vaguely spicy like thyme and black pepper corn. The breeze is warm and it catches my hair playing with it in the light from the suns. It sets the grass tickling against my bare legs.

The light from the two suns caresses my face and the back and side of my body. They are warmer than our sun but even with their combined light they are less bright. Everything is so tangible that it breaks me from my reverie. It seems strange because in the back of my mind in that constant whispering that this is all a dream.

I open my eyes and catch him watching me. He blinks and turns away pretending to observe the world in front of us as I take the opportunity to watch him. I see the hints of many emotions beneath his nonchalant exterior. I wonder if I would notice them if I hadn't read and watched so much about him.

He is David Tennant. I can see all the spectrum of feeling that made the 10th doctor so brilliant now in the slight tensing of a jaw muscle or flicker of his eye.

He is holding out his hand to me, his fingers spread to accommodate mine. I accept his offer and we are off, striding across the grassy hills towards an unknown adventure.


	4. Chapter 3 part 2

Hi it's me again. Hope you like this second half of Episode 3 I am kind of proud of it. Just a little.

Also I am so sorry that I can't figure out which doctor to stick to. I like David Tennant and Matt Smith so much and I am very fond of Christopher Eccleston. When I dream about the Doctor it is never just one of them and sometimes He is neither of them just a stranger's face but I know beyond any shaddow of doubt that is the Doctor. It is very confusing.

Should I just follow my inclination and leave him up to your imagination or should I try to pick a particular Doctor. Comments are much appreciated.

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Part 2

We crested a hill, the Doctor and I. Spread out before us in quaint beauty is a small village with plowed fields and all the makings of a pleasant settlement.

"Oh! It is so pretty!" the exclamation bursts from me. I am enjoying myself so immensely that in this moment I almost forget that this is only a dream.

He laughs and I think that he is enjoying himself to.

"Well come on! Let's get a closer look," he says.

We stumble down the steep hill, half running with excitement and clinging to each other (though more me clinging to him) to keep from falling and rolling the rest of the way down Then we are walking across a flat expanse approaching the town.

Everything is so picturesque and so very quiet.

We enter the town, walking slowly down the main thoroughfare towards the center square. The streets are empty. Odd. I hold the Doctor's hand a little tighter, stepping closer to him instinctively.

"It's too quiet," he murmurs, echoing my thoughts. "Where are all the people?"

He has his sonic out, scanning the air as if there might be some clue there.

"Listen," I interrupt.

He does. "I don't hear anything."

"But that's just it," I insist. "Now I don't know that much about strange planets, but besides people shouldn't there be animals. We saw fenced in areas that could have been animal pens. And come to think of it I haven't seen any birds or insects, assuming this planet has an equivalent."

I am just talking now. Not sure where I am pulling these logical thought processes from. But it seems I am making sense because the Doctor is nodding.

"Very good point," he agrees, though I am getting a vibe that he had already drawn these conclusions ages ago. "Unless, I miss my guess," he continues. "We are on one of the twin moons of the Planet Orafeld. From what I know of this area both Orafeld and its moons have always been teaming with peaceful life. But you're right we have seen nothing of the wild life and now the people seem to have vanished."

He is switching through settings on his sonic and then he scanned the air again, turning to point it around at some of the buildings.

"What are you doing?" I question, watching his eyes as they flit from the object in his hands to the vacant village, taking in everything and nothing at once.

"Scanning for life forms," he says absently. "We're the only ones."

We are wandering pointlessly down the street. I am picking up grimness in his mood and I miss the carefree wonder of a few moments before. I vaguely contemplate that since I am dreaming I should be able to change the circumstances, but my thoughts are interrupted as the Doctor springs away with that familiar air of scattered, eccentric energy.

I have to jog to keep up with him. I don't want to be left alone in this strange place. A sense of foreboding seems to be settling over me and I want to be as close to the Doctor as I can.

We approach a building, vaguely reminiscent of a saloon portrayed in old western films. The door frame is low, only a little over 5' tall – I know because it is the closest I've ever come to brushing my head on the top of a door frame before. The Doctor has to duck to get through. The doors swing wildly behind us at our intrusion.

Rickety wooden tables and chairs take up most of the main area. A long bar graced one side of the room and a large stage took up the distant wall. It was all familiar in a way but everything seemed vaguely too small as if everything was built to accommodate persons even shorter than myself. Luckily the ceiling is high otherwise the Doctor would have to duck the entire time though he does have a near encounter with some of the hanging lamps.

All of these things I noticed quickly but the Doctor's brain is drawing conclusions from the minute details that I had glossed over.

"Look," he is gesturing, moving among the furniture. There was purposeful disarray about the setting of the seats about the tables. Here and there were tables neatly set with the chairs pushed in but the majority of the chairs were scooted this way and that as if just recently occupied by persons trying to get a better view of the stage.

Also there were dinner plates and mugs half full, and I note disdainfully, remnants of forgotten meals laid as if just recently left.

"They must have left in a hurry," I realize aloud.

"Not just that. You'd think there would be more sign of terror. Surely if something were so bad as to make them leave their very dinners on the table there would be more evidence. But look. There are no chairs overturned in haste, no spilt drinks."

I try to guess the end of the Doctor's reasoning, but he explains it for me.

"They didn't just leave. They vanished."

A cold chill tickles the back of my neck. "But people don't just vanish. I mean I don't know anything about alien moons, but they don't do they?!" I am scrambling to make sense of this turn of events.

"That's right," he assures me. "Which raises something of a sticky question." He is looking at me, he eyebrows raised. "What took them?"

I look around warily as if some people stealing monster is going to jump from under a table and run away with me. But he had said there were no signs of life besides us. Not even baddies.

He holds out his hand, sensing my need of comfort I think. I take it, squeezing a little harder then entirely necessary.

"Let's go back to the Tardis," he says, leading me more slowly than before.

"So we're just going to leave it then?" I asked, somewhat relieved.

Hardly," he says arching an eyebrow at me as if to say that I was rather daft to even think that he, the Doctor, would ever leave a mystery like this alone. "But I don't think we'll find more answers here. Perhaps we'll pay a visit to the Esteemed Orafeld herself."  
"What, the Planet?" I question dryly.

"No. The Queens on planet Orafeld always take the name Orafeld when they are crowned."

"We can just go talk to a queen?" my tone is rather awed.

"Of course we can!" He gives me a cheeky grin and my heart lightens.

I am with the Doctor. Everything is going to be just fine.

As we wander back through the emerald grass, the Doctor seems very quiet. Obviously his brilliant mind is mulling over what could have taken all the life forms of this planet or moon as the Doctor had called it.

He must have been very thoroughly engrossed because he didn't hear it at first. There was a very faint humming like an engine. I noticed it because it seemed so out of place in this natural setting. I stopped, pulling the Doctor to a halt beside me.

"Do you hear that?" I ask.

He listens. "Yes."

"That wasn't there when we came this way before," I comment, stating the obvious.

"No it wasn't," the Doctor says. He is scanning the sky which is where the sound seems to be coming from. It is getting louder and louder. Whatever was making that sound was getting closer.

The ground is trembling and great gusts of wind are whipping the grasses against my legs. I have to fight to keep my dress still and I am thankful for the knee length leggings beneath the skirt. It could have gotten very embarrassing.

The humming is deafening and all of a sudden the sky above us does something very strange. Hundreds of mirror like squares rotate in a wave, moving across the surface of what we could now see was a massive airship. The camouflage, if that is what it was called, vanished leaving the sky blanked out by a giant UFO.

I gave a squeak of fear and my already vise like grip on the Doctor's hand tightens. I vaguely wonder if it hurts him, but he is not paying attention. He pulls me against him protectively, his other arm extended with his sonic going full blast.

"That is some cloaking mechanism," the Doctor mutters but his words are lost in the noise of the ship.

All at once we are bathed in brilliant blue light and it is tearing at us. We are moving through some sort of tractor beam into the ship. I scream and cling to the Doctor who holds me with both arms now. There is no way to fight it. Whether we like it or not we are being brought aboard.

It is strange, traveling by tractor beam. I am feeling light headed and I am afraid I might faint from fright. If it were not for the Doctor's arms around me I might have had a panic attack, but in the few moments it was taking to be beamed up into the ship I was able to remind myself of a few vital things.

One. I was with the Doctor and he always got through the most impossible situations. Two. I can't get hurt in dreams. Three. I am a veteran lucid dreamer and if the situation gets too bad I can just change it with a few focused thoughts.

I think of changing the current situation, but as my fear ebbs, I realize something else important. I am in the arms of the Doctor. Now I know that there is nothing romantic in this embrace, but I will take what I can get.

With the fear gone (or mostly gone – I am being beamed up into an alien ship) I look up at the Doctor and smile which catches his attention. He stares at me quizzically.

"It's okay," I mouth to him and an eyebrow arches. I wish I knew what he was thinking.

We are in the ship now. There is a loud mechanical buzzing as the port though which we came closed behind us. As suddenly as it came, the transport beam vanished leaving my head spinning.

The Doctor supported me with a steadying arm. His Time Lord constitution seemed unfazed by the strange mode of travel. While I am still trying to sort through my rather scrambled thoughts, we are surrounded by the most sinister creatures I have ever seen. Well almost.

Picture a cross between the Silence and a tall bony human with absolutely colorless skin and you would come close to an accurate picture of the five or more creatures standing in a rough circle around us. One of the aliens stood in my line of sight, its pallid skin looked even worse in the green glow of the ship's lights around us. It looked at me with solid black eyes but dismissed me as no threat instead fixing its very disturbing gaze on the Doctor who is looking around with a bit of warning in his eyes.

Ok. It is about time for him to do something awesome.

"I demand to talk to whoever is in charge here." The Doctor's authoritative tone calms me somewhat and I find myself standing straighter at his side.

"The cattle will make no demands," the voice is low and entirely unaffected by my companion's fierce gaze.

"Cattle!" he exclaims with righteous indignation. "Now see here!" he steps forward.

Whatever he was about to say is cut off as one of the other captors moves forward impassively and slams the butt of his strange gun into the Doctor's midsection.

The Doctor doubled over with a grunt of pain, sinking to one knee as he fought for breath.

The beast raised his weapon as if intending to hit him again.

"Stop!" I yell, trying to sound intimidating as I draw myself up as tall as my 5' frame would allow. I raise my hand and point at the creature in front of me. "This is just a dream and I command you to never touch him again!"

Calmly, as if I were exactly no more than cattle, the monster in front of me raised its own weapon and fired. There was a brilliant bolt of red light that flew past me, grazing my raised forearm along its length. I stagger backwards and the bolt sizzled in the far wall. My legs buckled.

The Doctor caught me as I fell, cradling me as he kneels. He raises his hand as if to stave off expected blows, but it seems the aliens are bored because they do not attack.

The edges of my vision are blurry and I feel leaden. The Doctor is looking down at me, his eyes are filled with so much worry, but even though I try to focus on him, the pain is making it hard to think.

"It hurts," I gasp feebly. It did hurt. Like white hot fire was burning through my arm.

"It is going to be ok," he whispers brokenly.

But it is all fading and suddenly I am jerking to a sitting position in my familiar bed in my familiar room.

It was just a dream.


	5. Chapter 4

So basically I just hand wright the episode - type it and then upload it. That is basically the extent of my editing and revising. So when you read my crap just keep in mind its a rough draft and I'm a lazy bum.

These in between episodes are the worst - wish I could just skip them all together but eventually they will become essential to the story line so if you'll just bear with me.

And here comes the self plug.

Please favorite or follow or comment or something. I'm trying to decide if it is worth it to expend the miniscule amount of work to write these things or not.

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Episode 4

Early morning light is streaming through my bedroom window as I sit gasping and trying to shake off the last remnants of that dream.

I lift my arm and stare at it. It still hurts but dimly and fading as I return back to reality. The skin is smooth and unsinged which is what it should be although I was half expecting to see an ugly burn. I touch my arm gingerly with my fingers and there is a sharp twinge of pain. It is there and gone so quickly that I think I just imagined it.

I rubbed my arm vigorously. It feels like it is supposed to and I shake my head at my foolishness. "Of course it wasn't really burned," I scold myself. "It was just a dream."

It is still early, a couple hours until my alarm would go off, but I am wide awake and I'm not sure I want to try to go back to sleep. As much as I enjoy being with the Doctor in my dreams, I would rather sit this particular adventure out.

I pushed aside my covers and wrinkle my nose at their dampness. I'm going to have to wash my sheets they are soaked in sweat. I yank them off to bring with me to the bathroom slash laundry room. Might as well kill two birds with one stone, to borrow the trite expression. I step into an ice cold shower, shivering as the heat of the night gets sapped from my body. I am torn between rerunning the dream in my mind and just trying to forget the rather unpleasant turn of events. It was rare that I ever had a bad dream because I am usually very good at controlling them.

As I sit sipping my second cup of coffee however, I've determined to write out the dream in all of its detail. The negative nature of the last half of this dream was nothing when I considered the wonder of having achieved yet another lucid dream with the Doctor as the main character.

And it was so very vivid! Even more so than the last. And despite being vaguely frightening it still had been a brilliant experience, made more bearable by the realization that it had been just a dream and I had been in no real danger.

I set my mug on the table. The back of my forearm brushed the table cloth and I drew back as if subconsciously trying to protect an injury. I caught myself and looked at my arm to assure my brain that there was no injury there. I touched my arm thoughtfully.

The sensation of pain had been so sharp and realistic. I had been able to experience pain in dreams before but it had always been very vague and decidedly dreamlike, but last night! I close my eyes remembering vividly, even awake, how very agonizing the feeling had been. So real.

"Maybe this is the dream and I am really gallivanting across the galaxies with the Doctor."

It is not a serious thought, merely the rabbit trail my mind has chosen to avoid thinking about the looming workday as a Shop-mart cashier. Travelling in the Tardis is much more appealing than dealing with a line of grumpy customers.

I am more focused on my work than I was after the first dream, but I repeatedly find myself pulling back sharply if anything touches my arm and I have to consciously remind myself that it was not injured. Also the thought, which is more a wish than anything, that maybe this life was the dream crops up more than once.

When I am dealing with a particularly crabby customer I imagine snapping my fingers and changing her into an Ood and I am able to smile and remain civil. But, unfortunately, this is real life.

The day has passed more pleasantly than most. I wave farewell to my work friends and work is over. I let out an exaggerated sigh of relief as I pull my seatbelt across myself and contemplate a long evening to myself. Tonight is the new Doctor Who episode, something about ghosts in an old house that the Doctor and Clara investigate. It looks like that will be the highlight of my dull life.

I fix myself some dinner and curl up on the sofa, flipping channels until I find the one I want. The episode is spooky but not too scary, just the way I like it. The haunted house turns out to be part of a typical timey-wimey spacey-wacey hiccup in the universe and the Doctor soon puts things to rights.

I am expecting the usual excitement as the episode progresses, but somehow it seems sort of dull. Compared to living an adventure with the Doctor in my dreams, watching one on television is just a little pale.

So apparently I am not going to escape the come down from this dream after all.

I sink deeper into my cushie recliner and sigh. The episode ends and the TV drones on with some random show, but my mind is drifting and I am relaxing into sleep.

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Ok. Yeah thank you all so much for reading my story u guys :)


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